When Dreaming Ends
by Deadly Chakram
Summary: An unexpected rescue takes Charlie off guard, leaving the young man worried about readjusting to the world he left behind.
1. Chapter 1

"When Dreaming Ends"

Rated: R for language and adult themes

Summary: An unexpected rescue takes Charlie off guard, leaving the young man worried about readjusting to the world he left behind.

Author's Note: As you might expect, I do not own any of the following characters. They remain the property of JJ Abrams and ABC. The writer is merely having a bit of fun and makes no profit whatsoever from this story. The only thing I do make is the reviews of you, dear readers, and they keep my muse well fed (and horribly overactive!). So please feed the muse!

LOST….LOST…. LOST….LOST…. LOST….LOST…. LOST….LOST….LOST….LOST…. LOST….LOST….

The pale moon was just beginning its descent from its peak position in the sky when the sound was first heard. It was faint at first, and most of the survivors did not hear it straight away. Any hope of rescue had long since been lost and it was only in the worst times that one of them would lift his or her eyes to the skies, vainly searching for any sign of rescue. So it came as no surprise, when they later looked back on the night, that they had not paid more attention to the world outside of the beach that they had so often called "home." It was Locke who first noticed the sound.

They had gathered at the beach that night, all of the survivors, or at least, those who still lived. They did this each year, or as best as they could figure. Keeping track of time on the island had lost almost all meaning by now. They were gathered to mark the anniversary of the crash that had taken them all out of the world that they knew and loved. They came to remember those who had not made it that day and all of those who had been taken from them by the island. How many had fallen to sickness, accidents in the jungle, and the still unknown creature that roamed the forest? Mentally, Charlie went over the list while Jack read aloud the names from a worn notebook.

Out of the survivors, Scott, Steve, Shannon, Rose, and Jin were dead. Then there was Michael too, the latest of the group to fall, and that was about two months ago. Charlie's heart truly bled for Walt, to lose his father at such a young age. The poor kid was an orphan now. The island had left him with nothing at all, except maybe for Locke, who seemed to take charge of the boy and looked after him.

At length, Jack read the last name and closed the notebook solemnly, passing it back over to Hurley, who had at some point become the "keeper of memory" for the group, recording all of the important events and more importantly, the fates of everyone on the island. People began to drift away from the symbolic fire, which was always built as close to the spot where they had burned the fuselage as they could guess. A few others stood motionless, staring with tear-filled eyes into the dancing flames. No one ventured back to the caves, unwilling to go into the dark jungle alone. Instead, groups stood here and there, lightly talking amongst themselves, remembering the dead. A few people cried softly.

"Hey everyone! Do you hear that?" Locke suddenly called out, loudly enough for everyone to hear him.

He stood up and strode back over to the fire from the place where he had been sitting, staring out into the endless blackness of the night covered ocean. The rest of the survivors murmured questions of "what?" among their own groups.

"Quiet up and listen!" Locke told them, pushing a finger up to his lips to signal for them to be quiet, as if they were noisy children.

A hesitated quiet fell over the group as each one strained their ears to hear whatever it was that had excited Locke. Charlie was the first to speak.

"Engines! It's a bloody plane!"

"Flying low too, most likely," Locke said, nodding his head and smiling. "There's been some pretty thick cloud coverage today."

"What are the chances of them seeing us, you think?" Charlie asked.

"In this darkness, not much. Maybe if we get that fire bigger and quickly, then we might have a chance."

"How much bigger?" Claire asked, coming up alongside Charlie, holding her sleeping son to her.

"A lot. As big as we can make it," Sayid cut in.

"That's going to take some doing," Jack said. "There's not a lot of extra firewood around tonight. Everything we cut went into the fire we already have."

"Guys!" exclaimed Charlie, stepping in front of group as he joined Locke's side. "What about those two palm trees?" He pointed in the darkness to where two lone palm trees grew side by side in the sand. "If we get them lit, that should be bright enough, and we don't have to burn down the entire island either."

"Charlie's got a good idea," said Locke as he began to walk towards the fire. "Everyone, listen up! Grab whatever sticks you can find, thick as you can, and start setting those trees on fire."

Without another word, people began to go in all directions, seeking what they could in order to do as Locke had bidden them.

LOST….LOST…LOST…LOST…

On board the plane, the passengers were wrapped in the most spellbinding game of poker that they had had in months. Straight faced and rigid bodied, they darted their eyes from one to another, trying to weed out those who were bluffing. A tense silence was in the air.

There was only one man in the group that remained unconcerned about the outcome of this hand. He had run out of chips long ago and now stood, arms behind his back, staring out into the darkness. It wasn't that flying made him uneasy, but he was feeling restless. He had been away from home for far too long. It would feel so good once he touched down.

"Uh, sir? Come here for a minute please, sir?" he suddenly called out.

"What is it Rawlins?" came the gravelly voiced reply.

"There's something out here sir. It looks like maybe a fire or something," he said as he picked up a pair of high powered binoculars. "Could be some sort of distress fire."

"Let me see," said the older man as he stood from his seat and made his way to where the young man stood. "Saints alive. I think you may be right. Edwards, tell Mr. Smith to hold our course and radio into headquarters. Tell him to let them know that we've got a distress coming in from this location and to have them prepare a rescue squadron. When that's done, fire the guns."

"Aye sir," the man named Edwards said as he saluted, turned on his heel, and strode to the cockpit.

LOST….LOST…LOST…LOST…

"Do you think they see us?" Claire asked hopefully as she wiped a trickle of sweat from her brow.

"Hard to say," Locke replied. "We can only hope so."

"Uh, dudes, they're, uh, shooting at us," Hurley said as the first round of shots rang out and exploded in the air.

"They're not shooting at us Hurley," Locke said, the smile from earlier returning to his face. "They do see us."

"Alright then, I'll just go pack my bags and wait for them right here on the beach," the heavier man replied.

"There's no rush," Kate said, stopping Hurley's retreat. "Hear that? The engines are getting fainter."

Lock shook his head. "They're probably heading back to their base. They saw us; they'll send help. But Hurley's right. We should go back to the caves and get our things. There's no telling how long or short a wait it'll be before the rescue planes get here. Half of us will go up to the caves and gather our belongings. The others, wait here, keep the fire buring."

"And who's gonna decide who goes back and who stays?" Sawyer asked.

"Does it really matter?" Locke responded. "Look Sawyer, we're all getting out of here one way or another. I'll stay here with whoever wants to stay on the beach. Whoever wants to go back to the caves first, just be careful out there in the dark."

"Whoo boy! Words o' wisdom from our resident wise-man," Sawyer muttered under his breath. "Now I can walk back to the caves without fear."

"Stop being an ass, Sawyer," Kate hissed at him.

"I'll lead the group going to the caves," Jack said, trying to stop the mini-argument before it escalated. "Charlie, Kate, Sawyer, Claire, you're coming with me. Sun, you too," he said, waving at the Korean woman. "Uh, let's see…Boone and Hurley can stay with Walt and Locke. Sayid? You wanna come with us?"

"No. I'll stay here if you don't mind," replied the former Republican Guard. "I'll watch Adam for you, Claire."

"Thanks," the blonde woman said as she handed her precious sleeping son to the man.

"Woo wee! Headin' back to cave town with Sheriff Jack!" Sawyer said as the excited group of survivors made ready to return to the caves where they had been living. "Can't say I'll miss the place. Well, maybe that one little spot. What about you, Freckles?"

Kate rolled her eyes in the darkness. "That night was a mistake, Sawyer."

"Not in my books it wasn't. In my books it's called doin' something right."

It did not take too long before they reached the caves and began to pack the meager supply of items that still remained to them. Mostly they packed what remained sentimental for them, for much of the clothes they had had long since become worn and tattered. For Charlie, this made packing easy, taking only a small notebook filled with scribbled diary entries and ideas for song lyrics, which he shoved into a back pocket of his faded jeans. The only other thing that he took with him was his guitar, though the body had become dirty and scratched over the course of time. As for the knife that Locke had given him, well that always hung from his neck, encased in a makeshift wooden sheath, on a leather strap.

"Hey, Charlie, give me a hand for a sec?" Jack asked, coming alongside him. "We don't know how long our wait is going to be. We should fill up the remaining water bottles while we're still here and bring them with us."

"Sure thing mate," he replied, picking up a beaten plastic bottle and unscrewing the cap.

"I can't believe this is it," Jack said after a moment's silence.

His eyes surveyed the familiar stone of the only home they had known since the crash. Beside him, Charlie did the same, memorizing every detail of the place. As much as he hated to admit it, there was a small part of him that held a kernel of sadness. He had become so accustomed to life on the island, not out of choice, but out of necessity. And now that rescue was not far off, he wondered briefly about the world that he had left behind. The memories brought a lump to his throat and dry tears to his eyes. Home. He had stopped thinking about it long ago; it had always hurt too much. His only choice to get through daily life was by focusing all of his thoughts on his life on the island, with Claire and little Adam. He barely noticed Jack's whispered words as the doctor began to speak once more.

"We're going home, Charlie. After all this time, we're finally going home."


	2. Chapter 2

The night crept steadily onwards, going by far too slowly for the survivors. No one slept that night, except perhaps for Claire's son, and that was only after the woman retrieved him from Sayid and held him close to her heart, rubbing his back with a circular motion. The others sat on the beach around the still blazing memorial fire, talking in soft voices. Some recounted snippets of their misadventures on the island, while others were content to dream aloud with each other about what they would do once they got back to the real world. Very few of them were quiet that night. Everyone was far too excited to keep still for long. Even the normally quiet Charlie and cryptic Locke could not stay quiet and went from person to person, exchanging words or stories.

Slowly the blackness of the night gave way to a pale dawn. Slowly the sun rose in the cloudless azure sky. Still the survivors remained awake, not trusting to sleep when rescue was not far off. The sun rose higher, fierce and hot, and still all eyes remained on the skies. Noon came and passed without much to mark it, except for a light meal that they shared together, each one of them hoping in their hearts that this meal would be the last that they would share on the island. It would perhaps have been a better meal had any among them put his or her effort into gathering more food, for the supplies that they had brought from the caves were painfully sparse.

Sunset was fast approaching when the sound of engines was next heard. Again it was Locke who heard them first, but now instead of remaining distant and faint, they came closer and more distinct. There was a moment of searching, of squinting against the gold rays of sun, before they saw the planes come into view, the silver metal of them both ablaze with the orange light, glowing with promise. The pair of airplanes began to drop in altitude until they touched down in the ocean, for they were sea planes. From each, a small raft was released, two uniformed men to each one. Gas powered motors sped the bright orange boats to shore.

On the island, every tongue was held in a reverent silence, as if words had some power to shatter the dream-like vision playing out before their waking eyes. Every breath was held in anticipation for the moment the first boat would touch the sand. The rafts came closer and the men at the motors cut the speed down to avoid damaging the boats when they landed. At length, the first of the boats touched the sandy shores and one of the uniformed men stood and jumped neatly to the island. Still not a word was uttered; it was as if each of them had been struck with a sudden dumbness. They stood merely looking at the man, their rescuer. Now the second boat landed and one of the two gentlemen from that vessel came up alongside the first.

At last, Charlie spoke, for he had been eying the first of the men who had jumped to the shore. "Scott? Scott Rawlins?"

The officer's eyes immediately shot away from his companion and sought the source of the voice that had called out his name. It simply could not be. His mind had to be playing tricks on him. Disbelief and an unwillingness to hope flooded his green eyes. There was a sharp intake of breath as he caught sight of Charlie.

"Jesus Christ! Charlie? Is that you?" The man's face was pale as he spoke, for it seemed to him that he must be speaking to, or at least seeing, a ghost. He shook his head. "It can't be."

A smile passed over Charlie's face. "You know," he said, crossing the distance between himself and the man called Scott Rawlins, "after four years, you'd think I'd get a little bit warmer of a hello. Then again, you were always a bit of an ass."

Scott did not have the chance to reply before Sawyer cut in. "You know this guy, Strings?" he asked Charlie, running his fingers through his long blonde locks. 'Strings' had become his nickname for the former rock star, for Charlie was forever playing with his guitar, strumming the chords to one tune or another.

Charlie nodded enthusiastically. "He's been my best mate since preschool."

"Well now, ain't that sweet. Any chance that you two love birds can hold off this little reunion until after we get on the planes? Some of us wanna get the hell off this damn island before we grow old and die here."

"The boats can only transport four or five of you at a time," Scott said, regaining his composure and addressing the survivors for the first time. "There's two planes, each with medical doctors on board to examine you and tend to any wounds you might have. Women and children will be escorted over first."

The women and children of the group (and really that only included Walt and Adam) climbed up into the boats and Scott waved on the drivers. He would stay on the island with the rest of the survivors. As the boat pulled away on the first of its trips, Scott looked over the ragged group of half starved survivors, still not wholly trusting his eyes at what he was seeing. These were the survivors from the ill fated Flight 815, Sydney to Los Angeles. That flight had mysteriously vanished less than halfway into its run and was believed to have gone down. The tracking equipment had been thought to have been broken in the crash, for no signal had ever been able to be found to track the plane with. In the early days of the crash, search parties had been sent out to look for survivors but none ever came back with even the smallest telltale sign that any were alive. So, after a few months, the searching grew less and less, until it altogether stopped and all aboard the plane had been presumed dead. That was the same plane that he knew Charlie had been on and now to see the man standing before him looking a little worse for wear but otherwise healthy, it was almost beyond belief.

The boats came back to shore after the first groups had been dropped off. Charlie did not make a move, but was content to remain on the shore, waiting until the last of them were to be shuttled over to the planes. He was the last of the survivors to leave the island, carefully choosing his boat so that he could remain on the plane with Claire and Scott. A cold knot formed in the pit of Charlie's stomach as they came closer to the planes, as sudden vivid memories of the crash came flooding back to him. Next to him, Scott felt the man tense.

"It's okay Charlie-boy. Nothing'll happen to you on _this_ flight, I promise," he said reassuringly.

Onboard, each person was carefully checked over by doctors who stood readily by and the planes took off on their homeward journey. The initial prognosis of the doctors was very encouraging. Aside from a few scratches here and there and a general diagnosis of being underweight, none of the survivors seemed to have anything life threatening.

After his examination, Charlie pulled his threadbare shirt back over his head and pulled it down, careful not to damage any more of the material. The last thing he needed was to tear a hole in the last remaining shirt that he had, at least not before he got back to the real world. It was bad enough that a few small holes had begun to form in the chest and that the ends of the material were frayed. He made his way over to a window and looked out at the island as they flew overheard. His last image of it was just as the last rays of sunlight hit it, gilding the deceptively quiet jungle with gold. He turned away from the window and stretched out on the blanket covered floor of the plane. There were not enough seats in the mostly empty plane for everyone to use, but even as he looked around, he could tell that everyone had made themselves comfortable on the floor, which allowed them to stretch out to sleep. He noticed with some dismay that Sawyer and Locke were not on the plane with him; they had been ushered to the other one. In the four years they had been on the island, he had become friends with those two men. A heaviness covered Charlie's eyes as he settled down on the floor and sleep took him.

He awoke only a few short hours later. The cabin was dark and quiet, the only sounds he could hear being the droning of the engines and the familiar sounds of his friends' breaths as they all slept. Only a few dim overhead lights shone in the darkness. Charlie stood and rubbed his neck with his left hand, working out a kink that had formed while he had slept. Across the way he could see Scott sitting alone. Carefully and quietly, Charlie picked his way over the sleeping bodies that littered the floor and came up alongside of his friend. It was a full minute before the man felt Charlie's eyes on him and he turned to speak with his friend.

"What's the matter? Can't sleep?"

"On the contrary, I've just had the best sleep of my life. I'd forgotten what it was like to sleep without having to keep one eye open all the time," Charlie quipped, though he meant every word.

"Four years, Charlie. Four bloody years. Everyone thought you were dead," Scott said quietly.

"I know," Charlie said. "How did Liam take it?"

"Not well," Scott admitted. "He was a real wreck after he heard about the crash. He went into a depression. Everyone was afraid that he might, you know, go back to the drugs or something. He spent so much damn time poring over maps and newspaper clippings about the crash. I think that there was some part of him that believed that if he concentrated hard enough, you'd be found. This didn't mix to well with his marriage, but maybe I'm not the right one to talk to about this. Maybe Liam should be the one to fill you in."

"Right then. What can you tell me about the outside world? Like you said mate, it's been four years. I mean, hell, when did you join the force?" Charlie asked, eyeing the uniform that the other wore.

"Right after you disappeared. The thought was always in the back of my mind to do this, but it wasn't until after the crash that I got guts enough to do it."

Charlie nodded his head. When it became clear to him that Scott would say no more, he ventured another question. "What about everyone else? What have they all been up to?"

Scott smiled. "Tess and Mike finally got married last year. I haven't seen 'em much, but I hear they're expecting a little one soon. Bob opened a restaurant where the old general store used to be."

"He talked about that for so long," Charlie said, smiling. "What about Tommy?"

"Tommy's dead, Charlie."

"What? How? When?"

"A year and a half ago. He overdosed. We hadn't seen him in a few days and I went over to check on him. The front door was unlocked and I found him on the couch. He was already dead for two days when I came across him."

"But," Charlie tried to say, not quite able to finish his statement.

"Charlie, you know as well as I do that he was a worse junkie than you and Liam combined."

"Jesus," was all Charlie could say before another silence fell between the two, and Charlie could feel that the man sitting across from him was a stranger. He wondered if seeing Liam would be so awkward.

LOST…LOST…LOST…LOST…LOST….LOST…

The flight from the island to Los Angeles was the longest that Charlie ever remembered being on in his entire life. Ever since his talk with Scott during the night, a growing knot had formed in Charlie's stomach until he felt sick. What if he had been out of the real world for so long that he couldn't make the adjustment back? Then there was the question of Liam. Charlie could not help but to feel nervous as he thought about his older brother. They had not exactly parted on the best of terms before the crash. Charlie had too often relived their last conversation over in his mind. He'd been such an ass to blame Liam for the way he was, for his drug addiction. What if his brother harbored a grudge against him for that?

Charlie steeled himself as best he could as he crossed the threshold where the gangway to the plane met the open airport terminal. It was like stepping onto the surface of an alien planet. There were things there that were so familiar to Charlie, but after being away from them for so long, they were at the same time utterly foreign to him. The bright fluorescent lights and white painted walls seemed harsh to his eyes at first, but he immediately sought out familiar faces that could be there to greet him. Before him, he heard the others shouting the names of loved ones as they ran towards them. He scanned the crowd again and his heart dropped a little. So Liam had not come. It was as he had feared. His eyes began to burn with heartbroken tears. He turned away, slipping his guitar from where it had been slung over his shoulder, and putting it down on the floor for the moment. He figured that he would wait out his emotions and then bid farewell to the other survivors. Claire and Adam, perhaps, would be all the family that he would need.

"Charlie!" cut in a sudden familiar voice, just as the man turned his head away, not wanting any one to see him cry.

Charlie's head snapped up and the tears in his eyes turned from those of sorrow into those of joy. "Liam? Liam!" he called out, knowing the voice immediately.

A moment later, Liam burst through the crowd of reuniting relatives. He speed to Charlie and embraced the younger man in the tightest hug he could muster. Charlie hugged him back, wanting to never let go and let his pent up tears flow.

"I'm so sorry I was late. I wanted to be here the moment you stepped off that plane. I just," he started to apologize.

"It doesn't matter," Charlie said. "All that matters is you're here. I was afraid that after the way we left off, that you might not want to see me again."

Liam smiled. "Are you kidding me? You come back from the presumed dead after four years and you're worried that I'm gonna abandon you because of a stupid fight? I'm hurt," he said, mock pain in his voice as he put a dramatic hand to his heart. He eyed his brother, taking in his full state of being before he spoke again. "Four goddamn years." He shook his head in disbelief.

"I know," Charlie agreed. "It's weird, Liam. It's like I've been living in a dream all this time and I'm only just waking up. I've seen more than I care to recall, been through more than I'd like to admit. I've killed wild boars for supper, come face to face with polar bears, buried friends that became so close that they were family."

"You killed what?"

"Yeah, I'm serious. That man over there, John Locke," he said, pointing out man that he spoke of, "he taught me how to hunt. That's how we survived, killing boars to skin and eat, polar bears on the rare occasion. I mean, that's aside from eating fruits and stuff."

"Unbelievable. My baby brother hunting down bears!" Liam's goofy grin matched the one that Charlie usually wore. He shook his head again.

"Liam, with Locke's help, I kicked the drugs too."

"I always knew that you could do it," Liam said, genuine pride in his voice. "This calls for a celebration."

"Not just yet. My world fell apart when we crashed on that island. Everything that I've ever known became unimportant. It was like of those weird ongoing dreams were you can't believe that you're really doing half of what you're doing. But somewhere along the way, the lines get blurred and the dream becomes your reality. But when you finally wake up, what do you do? What do you do when dreaming ends?"

"You do your best to go on with life, Charlie," said Liam. "It's not easy but somehow you do it. Four years is a long time I know, but I'm here for you, every step of the way."

"Thanks."

"Charlie!" called Jack, as he made his way over to where he and Liam were talking. "Once we're all cleaned up and everything, Locke thought it might be a good idea if we all had dinner together. You know, a sort of last supper to share. We've been together so long, it's like a family being pulled apart. It shouldn't be that we all get to LA and vanish into the crowd."

Charlie nodded. "Agreed. But I swear if dinner consists of boar and coconuts, I'm leaving," he joked.

"Hey Strings!" called Sawyer, waving. "See ya at dinner later!"

"Ok, later man," Charlie called out. He eyed Liam again and took a deep breath. Maybe going home wasn't going to be so terrible after all.


	3. Chapter 3

Charlie awoke to the unexpected sensation of water hitting his face. He lay still, trying to collect his thoughts and trying to fight the sleep that still lingered over his body. He tried opening his eyes, but the lids were heavy and refused to move. He groaned a little as he struggled to open his eyes, finding no success. He was tired. All he really wanted to do was sleep, but who could sleep with the pattering of water droplets on their face?

_What in the bloody hell is going on?_ he thought to himself. _Why the hell is the ceiling leaking?_

This had to be the worse hotel he had ever stayed in. As soon as he was fully awake, he would have to make a complaint to the management. Then a thought dawned on him. Perhaps the hotel was on fire. That had to be it! The falling water was coming from the sprinkler systems. How he would _have_ to get up. He tried to move and panicked when he felt his leaden body refuse to comply. He fought to open his eyes. The seconds ticked away and a knot of fear grew in the pit of his stomach. What if he couldn't make himself move? He'd be a dead man for sure.

Through the fog of his mind, he became dimly aware of someone calling his name. Over and over it called to him, calling his name. There seemed to be some plea that was being made, but Charlie couldn't hear the words. The only clear word he could make out was his name. The voice was distant and Charlie could not right away figure out who it was that was calling to him. Then he realized that it had to be Liam. He tried to call out to his brother, to make some form of answering cry, but fear squeezed around his heart. His tongue felt stiff and wooden, his throat dry. His plea went unvoiced. Still Charlie was determined to make himself heard.

He swallowed hard, his heart racing, beads of sweat forming on his brow. He tried to call out again and this time, he made progress. His words exploded into the darkness with unbridled fear.

"Liam! Help me! Liam!"

He felt a strong hand on his shoulder, bringing with it a gentle shake meant to rouse a sleeping man.

"Please, help me," Charlie begged.

"It's okay, Charlie. Relax. Take a deep breath and open your eyes. Everything's alright," said the owner of the hand.

Charlie did as he was told, taking a deep breath and holding it as he tried to relax himself as best he could. Exhaling, he stirred, finding to his delight that he could feel his body moving once again as the fear drained away. He focused his will power and creaked open his eyes. A sea of gray met his bleary vision and Charlie used one hand to rub at his eyes. Now he could see that he was on his back looking up, the gray sea a mass of rain clouds that gently unloaded their liquid burden over the island. The island. He was still on the damn island, he realized.

He felt a light touch on his shoulder again and he forced himself to sit up, stretching as he rose, to loosen some of his stiffer muscles. He looked over to his right and saw the anxious face as Jack peering at his through the fine curtain of rain. The doctor smiled at seeing Charlie awake.

"You okay?" he asked.

Charlie nodded weakly. "Yeah. It was just a dream. Nothing but a bloody dream." He spoke quietly, seemingly more to himself than to Jack.

He couldn't understand it. Everything had felt so real in his dream – the vibration of the plane as they headed to Los Angeles and the less than perfect landing, the cold metal of the stethoscope as the doctors on board the planes had examined him, the tight embrace he and Liam had shared. And yet, none of it had been real; it was all nothing more than a passing dream. He looked over at Jack again, pleading with the doctor for some unknown help. Then a funny feeling crept over him and he turned away to forcefully expel the contents of his stomach.

"Here," Jack said gently, pushing a water bottle into the younger man's shaking hands.

Charlie took several long gulps of the lukewarm liquid and used the back of his had to wipe at his mouth once he was finished. He screwed the top back on and sat the bottle in the sand.

"Thanks," he murmured.

"Don't mention it. I'm glad to be of service," Jack said, smiling. "It's good to see you finally getting some sleep."

"I'm not," Charlie sighed. "I think I prefer the insomnia to these dreams. They hurt too much."

"How do you feel?" Jack asked.

"Like shit."

"Charlie, you have to remember, you're only three days into your withdrawal," Jack reminded him. "The first steps are always the hardest."

"That's not totally it though," Charlie said, shaking his head.

When he did not continue, Jack pressed in a different direction. "So, what were you dreaming about?"

It was a dumb question, he reasoned to himself, but it was good to keep Charlie talking. He was worried about the ex-rocker. After all, the guy had saved his life only a few days before, all the while fighting a secret battle as his body underwent heroin withdrawals. More than once already, Jack had kicked himself for not picking up on the young man's distress earlier. He was a doctor after all; it was his job to recognize when people needed help. Still, Charlie seemed to brighten for a moment as the dream came back to him.

"It was wonderful. We all got rescued," he said, the ghost of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. "We all arrived safe and sound in Los Angeles, four years late mind you. Our friends and families were all waiting to see us in the terminal. My brother Liam was there." He stopped, not wanting to reveal anymore of the dream; his uncertainties at going home again and the fact that not all of them had really gotten rescued in the dream. He decided not to say who had died in his dream.

"Sounds like a pretty good dream," Jack said softly, as if he were speaking to a child who was proudly displaying some piece of artwork.

Charlie nodded. "Say, where's Claire?"

"She's back at the caves. When she saw you passed out on the beach, she went to the caves to get me. She knows you haven't been feeling too well. Why?"

"Aw, it's nothing," Charlie answered, touched that Claire had been so worried about him. "I just wanted to tell her about my dream. In it, she had the most beautiful little boy named Adam. He looked just like her, I swear. I wanted to tell her about him and about how I was…" He stopped himself right before he could blurt out how he had been Adam's surrogate father in his dream. He took a breath and continued carefully, "so happy for her."

If Jack had noticed the slight pause in Charlie's statement, he did not address it. Instead he turned his gaze towards the ocean, watching the waves boil and churn the water before crashing violently onto the beach. After a minute or two he stood and faced Charlie.

"It's starting to rain heavier. We should start heading back to the caves. Think you can make it?"

Charlie nodded and Jack held out his hand to the younger man. Charlie gratefully accepted the help and, with Jack's help, he stood. Jack frowned as he took note of how badly the other man was shaking. Part was due to the withdrawals and the other part due to the chill rain. Charlie sensed the other's worry and cracked a goofy smile.

"It's a good thing I'm not drunk to boot, or you'd have a hell of a time getting me back to the caves," he joked as he bent to pick up the water bottle Jack had given him.

A small laugh escaped Jack's throat. "Fair enough," he said, nodding his head in amusement. "I just wish it didn't have to be here in this place. It's hard enough to beat an addiction, but to do it here, with no family or friends around to support you…" His voice trailed off and he shook his head.

"Hey, who says I don't have friends to support me?" Charlie asked, his voice totally serious. "The way I see it, I've got plenty of friends around me."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know what you meant," Charlie said softly. "But to tell you the truth, I'm not sure I could have done this any place else or with any other people around me. My friends, well some of them anyway, are junkies, my brother's a former junkie. He tried to help me but I threw it in his face and blamed him for my problems."

"So you think he would have held a grudge?" Jack asked, as they reached the trees and entered into the jungle.

"No," Charlie said, shaking his head a little. "I don't think he would have. Liam's not that kind of guy. But as for me…I'm not sure I would have been able to go back and ask for his help after that."

A silence fell between the two men after Charlie had spoken and they continued to pick their way through the slippery undergrowth. Once or twice Charlie's footing faltered as his shoes refused to grip the wet leaves below them, but each time he was able to grab hold of some tree or another and regain his balance, stopping him from crashing to the ground. At last, after what seemed like hours to Charlie, they reached the caves. It was late in the day when they arrived. Locke was already standing at a large cooking fire and roasting the remains of the last boar that he had killed. Here and there people sat together talking lightly around smaller fires made for light and warmth. Claire lay near to one not far from where Kate sat talking to Shannon. Charlie could see that she was asleep. Turning, he ducked behind an outcropping of stone, stripped out of his wet clothing, and quickly slipped into warmer and drier clothes. Immediately he felt better. He draped his wet clothes on a rock that stood close to one of the fires and then picked up his guitar.

"Charlie?" Jack said, as he neared the man to add his own wet garments to the rock.

"Yeah, mate?"

"Think you might be able to get some more sleep? You didn't get that much on the beach, only a couple of hours."

Charlie shook his head. "Later. It's all too rare these days that Charlie Pace gets inspired. I haven't written a song on this guitar since my band broke up when my niece was born."

"And now you're inspired to write one?"

Charlie nodded. "I haven't been this inspired in years."

Jack shook his head also. "Okay, just take it easy, all right? You start feeling worse again, just give me a call. I'll be right over there with Michael."

"You got it," Charlie replied.

He waited until Jack had gone to the other side of the cave and became lost in conversation with Michael. Then his fingers crept over the taunt guitar strings, strumming several notes until he found one that he liked. The music was low and rather towards the soft rock genre. Charlie smiled to himself. It was a far cry from the hard rock that driveSHAFT had been famous for. But the melody was perfect for what he was feeling inside and he played it absently for several minutes. Then he began to sing, his voice a soft whisper as he began to fashion what would become one of the song's verses.

_"What do you do when dreaming ends and reality fades away?_

_You do your best to go on with life and face the coming day."_

The End.


End file.
